A Seedy Affair

I love my husband; he’s good fun to be with and he’s affectionate and kind. The fact that he was never great in bed wasn’t a major consideration when it came to marriage. Although sex was important I didn’t consider it the be-all and end-all. We had a decent sex life and he’d always been charmingly eager to please. However, soon after we were married Paul started to let himself go. He became slobbier and it didn’t seem to bother him. He took to wearing casual shirts that were too big and hung outside his trousers, not as a fashion statement but to hide an increasingly rotund paunch. When he got home in the evenings all he wanted to do was watch the telly or play on his computer. I’d tried to get him to join a gym with me but he said he felt too tired after work. And of course the weekends were a no-no. He liked to go to the football or play golf on Saturdays, then, in the evening, he’d meet up with his mates and swallow a vat of beer down the pub followed by a curry. It was his night out with the boys. On Sundays, he’d slob around the house with a hangover while I sweated away over a Sunday roast.

I found myself becoming increasingly resentful about his deteriorating physical appearance and tepid attitude. I used to love pleasing Paul when we were first married, but then he used to love pleasing me. I think, if things hadn’t changed so dramatically, if yesterday’s chat during Sunday dinner hadn’t taken place, then we’d probably be going through a divorce right now.

What kept me sane, up until recently, was my hobby. About two years ago Paul and I were  promoted in our respective jobs. The salary boost made it possible to move from a nice flat to a decent sized house and we were able to get something I’d always wanted; a garden. That garden became the focal point for my increasingly pent up frustrations. Digging, weeding, pruning, planting, they all required considerable physical energy. Gardening invigorated and relaxed me. It also allowed me to channel my creative energies which I couldn’t do, as an accountant, in my working life. I figured it would take me a good few years to get the garden to look the way I wanted but I wasn’t in any particular hurry. I saw it as a long term project.

About eighteen months after we’d been in the house a new neighbour moved in. The ‘For Sale’ sign had gone up and was replaced by a ‘sold’ sign almost immediately. The middle aged couple, who we’d hardly ever spoken to, moved out with their teenage daughter and the dog that never stopped yapping. Then a few days after the house had been vacated a removal van turned up. I kept sneaking looks through the upstairs bedroom window as the men unloaded the van; but there was no sign of the new occupants.

The following day I noticed a car parked on the neighbour’s driveway but there was no sign of the owner. I became increasingly curious. Then, one evening, about a week later, just after I’d got home from work, I heard my husband’s car pull up outside followed shortly after by the slam of a car door. I put the kettle on but Paul never  appeared. I made some tea then walked into the sitting room and stood by the net curtains. I could see Paul, leaning back against the car, talking to a taller man who had his back to me. I couldn’t see too clearly so I went upstairs to our bedroom where I thought I’d be able to look down on them and get a better view without being spotted. Paul was laughing at something the man had said, he seemed quite animated. Suddenly, he looked up and waved. The man turned, following Paul’s gaze, and smiled up at me. I felt really stupid, as though I’d been caught spying on them. I smiled, briefly, and tried to look as though I’d been busy with something before stepping back to remove myself from their sight. Then I heard the front door being opened. I hurried downstairs to meet Paul’s still smiling face.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’

‘Do what?’ he said, looking confused.

‘Wave up at me like that. I felt so stupid, it looked as though I was spying on you.’

‘Well you were, weren’t you?’ He smiled and took me around the waist.

I was a little irritated and pushed him away.

‘Of course I wasn’t I just heard your car door go and I wondered why you hadn’t come in.’

‘He’s the new neighbour,’ said Paul, ignoring my irritation. ‘What a nice bloke. He’s got a lovely car, a Jag; likes golf too.’

I was too irritated to talk and ignored him, but later, when I was making another cup of tea, I said:

‘Is he married, got any kids?’

‘Who?’ said Paul, casually flicking through a newspaper.

‘The neighbour.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, I didn’t ask.’

‘But you asked about his car and golf?’ I said, incredulously.

Paul gave me a puzzled look. ‘I was thinking of asking him round for a drink, you know, as a welcome.’

Well, Paul did invite the neighbour and his wife which is when I found out he was divorced. I was a little disappointed, I didn’t particularly want to spend an evening talking about golf and football with my husband and a divorcee.

He called at about 7.30 on a Thursday night. Paul answered the door and showed him through to the sitting room. I heard them talking and laughing. I fully intended to have a quick drink then leave them to it and go to bed. I thought I’d be in for a night of boys’ talk. I took a couple of bowls of snacks into the living room and braced myself for a  boring conversation. The neighbour stood up when I came in and Paul introduced us.

‘Miranda, Sam. Sam, Miranda’

Sam stretched out his arm. I put the bowls on a coffee table and shook his hand. It was warm and firm and felt comfortable. I noticed the faint smell of a divine aftershave and his eyes held mine and he gave me a lovely warm smile.

‘What can I get you Sam?’

‘A beer would be fine.’

The conversation was a little stilted at first, a little slow. Paul began to talk about sport and I inwardly groaned. He even went to get his clubs to show them off to Sam. After he’d left the room Sam spoke first.

‘What about you Miranda, do you have any hobbies?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not much of a sports person, gardening’s my passion.’

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked genuinely delighted.

‘Same here,‘ he said, ‘same here.’  By the time Paul returned with his clubs we were fully engrossed in a discussion about soil (a sort of dirty conversation). It turned out to be a really pleasant evening.

A few days later I got up early on a Saturday morning and, looking out onto the back garden from the bathroom window, I saw Sam bent over a flower bed. It looked as though he was planting some seedlings. I stood and watched him working, noticing what a fine back he had. It was broad and tapered from his shoulders to his hips and he had a nice, small bottom. He looked fit and I couldn’t help making a comparison with Paul’s tubby frame. I felt a bit mean. Still, no harm done. I continued watching Sam until he stood up, studied his work and then looked about him. I moved a couple of steps back from the window in case he saw me but then he sat on his haunches and continued working. I carried on with my observations, feeling a little voyeuristic, until my viewing was interrupted by Paul shouting out from the bedroom, asking whether I’d washed his jeans.

Later that morning, having checked to confirm that Sam was still outside, I went out into the garden to do a bit of weeding. I made plenty of noise with a spade and made some unnecessary grunts of effort in the hope of catching his attention. Eventually, he took the hint and called out over the fence.‘How’s it going?’ And then his face appeared. I pretended to be startled. He apologised.

I leant on my spade.

‘I thought you’d be out on the golf course on a glorious day like this.’

He smiled.

‘I think Paul got the wrong end of the stick, I’ve not played golf for some time. If truth be known I think it got me out of the house, my wife and I couldn’t bear each other’s company by the time we parted. No, gardening’s my thing, I find it very relaxing. What are you up to?’

‘Oh, I’m just doing a bit of weeding, I’ve not decided what to plant yet.’

Sam nodded, approvingly.

‘I’m just putting some geranium seedlings in, I bought them  a couple of days ago. I’ll probably have a few over, why don’t you come over and have a look?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, come on.’

I walked around to his garden and as I walked up his path, seeing him waiting for me, my imagination formed a brief picture of him taking me in his arms and kissing me, passionately. I dismissed the image, cursing Paul for our withered sex life.

Sam invited me into his shed where he talked about his seedlings and I watched as he held a polystyrene container and explained the practical benefits of growing geraniums whilst enthusing about their beauty. I smiled and nodded but I wasn’t paying much attention. I was looking at his hands that were covered in dry mud; they were rough and looked very capable. When his eyes left mine to point out something about the geraniums I took the opportunity to study his face a little more closely. He had a nice bone structure. He hadn’t shaved but he looked very clean. He wasn’t particularly handsome but he was rugged and he had lovely eyes and when he spoke to me they focussed right in; they were very penetrating. I noticed a vase on his workbench and picked it up to read an etched inscription. I read it aloud:

‘ ‘‘To be happy for an hour get drunk. To be happy for a year fall in love. To be happy for life, take up gardening.’’ I think that’s a fair comment.’

He smiled.

‘My ex gave me that, I think she was trying to tell me something… So, why don’t you and Paul come over for a drink tonight?’

‘Oh, I’m afraid Saturday night is Paul’s night out with the boys. He’ll be out until about midnight; it’s football, a beer and then a curry. Besides, I would have thought you’d be out on a Saturday night?’

‘No, I’m afraid I’m a bit of a home bod, I gave up serious drinking some years ago.’

We left it at that and I remember sitting in that night watching some dreadful old crap on the telly, feeling resentful at how boring my life had become and fantasising about Sam fucking me on the sofa.

Over the next couple of months I developed quite a friendship with Sam. We became very comfortable with each other and he often made me laugh. I spent more and more time in my garden, not because the weather was getting better but because I hoped Sam would be working in his own garden and I could enjoy his attentions.

It was on an early summer’s day that he leaned over the fence one Saturday afternoon.

‘Here, Miranda, you couldn’t pop over and help me with this trellis could you? I need you to hold it up while I drill it in place.’

The latter part of the sentence caused a rather naughty image to form in my mind; Sam fucking me up against his shed wall. I hurried over.

It was a hot day and Sam had taken his shirt off. He was just wearing shorts. As I wandered up his path my eyes fixed on his lean, tanned torso and I was surprised by a sexual sensation, a sort of pleasant arousal.  On sight of me he picked his shirt off the floor, put it on and did up a button to ensure his front was covered. It was a polite, respectful gesture which simply notched up his sexiness.

It took us a while to put the trellis in place. When we’d finished he showed me a rose plant he’d bought and whilst demonstrating how the rose would eventually climb up the trellis he pricked himself on a thorn. I made quite a fuss when his thumb began to bleed and despite his protestations insisted he put a plaster on it.

‘I’ve got one in the shed,’ he said and I followed him.

There was nothing feminine about the shed. It had that unmistakably masculine smell of, wood, tools and linseed oil; a musty aphrodisiac. I stood behind Sam and studied his back as he reached up to a shelf, took down a tin and began to prise the lid off. Attracted by the movement of his muscles underneath his shirt, I reached out, trancelike, and ran my hand over his shoulders and down the curve of his spine, enjoying the feel of the warm, smooth skin through the coolness of the cotton. As he turned I suddenly became aware of what I was doing. I felt myself flushing and began to babble an apology.

‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I don’t know what came over me, your back just looked so lovely, I don’t know what made me do that…’

Sam was a good companion and I’d now blown any chances of our relationship developing on anything other than an awkward basis. I expected a chivalrous but uncomfortable, ‘That’s alright,’ or, ‘Don’t worry about it,’ but instead, he put his arms around me and kissed me. His mouth was as eager and hungry as mine and as I relaxed into him I now let my hands run freely over his back, exploring the contours, enjoying the feel of his muscles as they tightened from his forceful embrace. His mouth moved to my neck, where I’m particularly sensitive, and I began to gasp, appreciatively. My hands wandered down to the small of his back and I slipped them under the waistband of his shorts and cupped his beautifully shaped bottom, pulling it towards me, pressing his hips into mine ,feeling his rigid cock squash against my belly. I felt Sam’s hand move from the back of my neck  to the back of my head. He gripped a fistful of hair and tugged my head back which forced my mouth open and then his mouth was eagerly back on mine, his tongue silky and warm. He broke away and impatiently yanked at his shirt, pulling it off and throwing it on the floor. His large hands fiddled with the delicate buttons on the front of my old gardening dress until, agitated by lust, he gripped it and pulled the fastenings apart. I heard the faint tap of buttons scattering on the floor and felt his face bury in my breasts. I held on to the back of his head restraining him and then guided his mouth to each nipple and watched as he greedily set about them and I felt wonderful prickling sensations as they hardened and tightened. And as his mouth was enjoying my breasts his hands were around my waist pulling down my panties. He hurriedly pulled his own shorts down and then his arms were under my thighs and his hands were cupping my bottom. He hoisted me up and pressed me against the shed wall. My legs were spread wide and my calves dangled over his forearms. And then, in one rushed movement, his cock filled me and a visceral shock of pleasure hit the very core of my being. I responded with a primitive, guttural groan and my legs gripped tightly around his waist, pulling me to the very root of his cock, grinding onto him and I trembled as a pleasurable effervescence burst  from my clitoris while my cunt sucked greedily on his cock.

Sam lifted me from the wall and carried me outside. My legs were still wrapped tightly around his waist and as he walked I enjoyed the thrilling jerk of his thick cock. He carried me over to a pile of freshly cut grass, lifted me off his cock and planted me on the soft verdant mound. He knelt down then settled between my legs and began fucking me with long controlled strokes, his trunk-like cock digging to the core of me. And I responded, gripping the cheeks of his bottom and pulling my cunt onto him, forcing myself against him, as I shuddered with pleasure. I was aware of birdsong and the smell of fresh grass was now strong in my nostrils. The heat from the sun on my skin was tempered by a cool breeze and the air was fresh and faintly scented. I felt as though I was in a ménage à trois with Mother Nature.

Sam withdrew from me and knelt back. As his cock left my pussy it sprang up, hitting his belly before swaying, menacingly, in front of him. ‘Turn over’ he panted, his eyes satyric with lust. I complied  and offered myself, bitch-like on all fours. I felt his fingers spreading my cunt apart. Then the head of his cock pushed into me and his hands gripped my hips pulling me further onto his cock which I greedily met as I slapped my arse back against him. As his ferocity increased I settled my face in the cool grass and raised my bottom higher to enjoy his relentless pummelling. Sam’s balls slapped rhythmically against my pussy, exciting my clit which released jolting, jerking, shocks of vibrant pleasure until I felt Sam stuttering forcefully against me, grunting as his balls, ripe with excitement, emptied their juices.

We took a moment to regain our breath before disengaging and rolling back onto the grass. I nestled into Sam’s chest. My grass-scented, semen sated cunt had never felt such satisfaction.

 

I went round to Sam’s that Saturday night, dressed to kill, and we fucked on his sofa and then we spent the evening in bed. I returned to my house about an hour before Paul got in. Normally, I would have stayed up to vent a bit of spite but I was in a great mood and went straight to bed. Even the smell of beer and curry failed to irritate me when Paul slipped in beside me.

Funnily enough I didn’t feel guilty about my affair, I felt as though I’d found a new and exciting hobby. Gardening and sex, they made each weekend complete. Now I understood how Paul felt about his football and golf.

I had thought about divorce soon after the affair started but as time went on I realised that the sexual release I enjoyed with Sam resolved all my marriage frustrations; everything else was fine. Things were very comfortable as they were as long as Paul didn’t find out… which he did. God knows how, but I suppose it was bound to happen, he was bound to have found out sooner or later.

He broached the subject yesterday, over dinner. We’d been talking about a possible holiday when right out of the blue he changed the subject.

‘You know, I used to try really hard when we first met. I do like sex but not as much as you. After a while I used to not look forward to it, it became like a chore, you know, a bit of a duty. Once a month would have done me. But I love being with you, I love your company. I’ve always felt so relaxed with you…’ He began pushing his food around his plate, a little nervously. ‘… I do love you.’

‘I know, I love you too, darling,’ I said, feeling a little wary.

He continued playing with his food and then said, quietly, ‘You seem more relaxed lately … I like it.’ He looked up from his plate, hesitated briefly, then came out with it. ‘Are you shagging him then?’

‘Yes,’ I said, and we carried on eating, silently, for about a minute.

He looked up at me again. ‘I love your Sunday dinners… I’d do anything for you, you know that, don’t you?’

‘I know, sweetheart. Would you like some more beef?’

He smiled, ‘Yes please,’ and handed me his plate.